


Driven By You

by Sherlaufeyson



Category: Queen (Band), Rock Music RPF, Smile (Band)
Genre: First Kiss, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 00:59:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlaufeyson/pseuds/Sherlaufeyson
Summary: Brian May has been having an inappropriate response to Roger Taylor's vocal talent.





	Driven By You

Brian was having a little bit of a problem. Well, more than a little bit of one. Quite a big problem when he came to think of it - and he was spending most of his time trying not to think about it.

Something had changed. 

It had started a few weeks ago. Every time Roger Taylor sang - he felt something. It started off as goosebumps. Small ones on his arm that would prick up when they’d harmonise in a small room. Something about the sound reverberations, or when they were close enough, Roger’s actual breath raising the hairs on his arm.

His scientific mind kept coming up with excuses. Sound waves stimulating his ear drum, firing off unexpected affluent neurons in the skin. 

Day by day, it was getting stronger. And it wasn’t just goosebumps on his arm.

When Roger would sing high, it was like a finger stroking down his spine. Slowly. 

When Roger screamed, by God, his cock stood to attention.

He was grateful for having the guitar as his chosen instrument, and that he was accustomed to wearing it slung low against his hips.

This would have all been fine. Well, not fine - but manageable, except that it was affecting his playing. When Roger would sing the harmony line to “Doing Alright”, he’d get hard, and suddenly the right notes just wouldn’t come. 

It was the third gig in a row where he’d made uncharacteristic mistakes. Brian hurried out to the van, hoping to get home and have a hurried wank, thinking resolutely of anyone and anything other than the toned, lithe body of his best friend and the rasping intense screams he was capable of making.

As he turned from loading his gear into the back of the van, Roger was standing in front of him, blocking his path with an arm leaning across him against the door.

“Okay, Brian. Let’s have it.” Roger said conversationally, but with an edge that set off alarm bells in Brian’s head.

“What – what do you mean?” Brian was studiously avoiding making eye contact with Roger.

“Well something’s up,” Roger argued. “It’s not like you to make those sorts of mistakes in a gig.”

Brian tried to shrug it off, “Just a bad night is all.”

Roger wasn’t placated so easily. “Come off it, you’re the most technically perfect guitarist in the United Kingdom! What’s going on?”

Brian blushed at the intensity of Roger’s defence of his own abilities. He was so grateful to have him as a friend. Guaranteed to be the first person to squash his insecurities in that inimitable and passionate way.

“I was… distracted.”

Brian had no idea what made him blurt that out. Broaching the topic of his recent fixation was _not_ meant to be on the agenda for the evening. Especially not here, out in public. Although, he supposed, if his revelation was to send the other man out running, screaming into the night, having it out in the car park of a local pub was as convenient a place as any.”

“Ooh! What’s been distracting you?” Roger asked, immediately intrigued. “Was it that blonde in the front row? I saw her making eyes at you.” Roger waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“No!” Brian shouted, “I mean - no,” he reiterated more calmly.

Undeterred, Roger continued his probing, “Was it the bloke she’d clearly come to the gig with? He looked about ready to throttle you.”

“What? No – no I didn’t see either of them…”

“Christ, Bri - what were you looking at all night? Because it certainly wasn’t me.” 

Brian raised his eyes to look at him. Roger had a deer caught in the headlights expression, like he hadn’t exactly planned that last sentence.

“What do you mean?” Brian asked, thanking the heavens that the heat of the interrogation was off him for the time being. 

“I mean,” Roger continued tentatively, “You’ve barely made eye contact with me all week. Is it something I said? I know I can be a little harsh.”

“No!” This time it was Brian’s turn to rush Roger’s defence, “It’s nothing you’ve said. You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met!”

“Then what is it?” Roger asked, raising his voice in frustration. 

“Oh fuck.” Brian said hopelessly, the vocal equivalent of burying his head in his hands. He didn’t know how on earth he was going to get his next words out.

“Jesus – that bad, Bri?” Roger’s tone was sympathetic, but Brian had lowered his eyes and wasn’t looking at him. “Come on, May. What’s going on?”

“Well, lately – “ Brian shuffled his feet and trailed off.

Roger’s hand reached up to lift his chin, gently encouraging him to raise his head and make eye contact.

Brian’s breath caught.

The light from the street lamps was reflecting off Roger’s hair, giving the appearance of a halo, and his eyes were shining with empathy and hope. 

He was painful to look at, but Brian couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Brian…?” Roger asked, his hand still supporting Brian’s chin. Roger’s touch was feather-light but Brian felt that point of contact like a hot iron.

Brian looked into Roger’s eyes, speechless. He’d thought this was simple. Some freak occurrence where the man’s voice set him off. Like those people that experience arousal when they sneeze. Or brush their teeth. Some medical condition for which there was a perfectly sound explanation, and preferably, cure. 

But looking down at Roger, hearing him staunchly defending his playing, the concern in his voice, the touch of envy he heard when suggesting that his distraction could have been caused by the girl in the front row - how could Brian have been so blind?

He was in love with Roger.

Not a medical condition. Not a boyhood crush. He wanted a life with this man. He wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his days making him happy. Being the cause of the childlike grin that so often adorned his face.

Brian slowly took the hand propping up his chin in his own.

Threading their fingers together, he took courage. It was as if Roger’s confidence had transferred to him through their touch.

“Roger?” he asked. His voice was steady and calm. It had none of the previous hysteria or fear.

“Yes, Brian?” Roger looked up at him encouragingly, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards into a smile.

“I really like you.” Brian exhaled evenly. He was maintaining eye contact so Roger would know that this wasn’t a gag, or a trick, or some sort of offhand remark.

Roger beamed up at him. “I really like you too.”

Brian started getting flustered, thinking that Roger had completely missed the point and taken it as a simple statement of friendship.

“I mean, I really,“ Brian started to explain.

Roger cut him off, taking a half step forward so Brian’s legs caught on the edge of the floor of the van, sitting him down abruptly. Roger insinuated himself between them. Still holding one of Brian’s hands in his own, he reached the other up to tangle in his mop of curls.

He threaded his hand through, gently cradling Brian’s head. 

“I know.” Roger said quietly, and he leaned forward to capture Brian’s lips in his own with a soft kiss.

Brian reached his other arm up to wrap around the smaller man. He’d been aiming for Roger’s lower back, but ended up with a handful of Roger’s firm backside.

He pulled Roger to sit on his lap, taking great care not to break the kiss. Running his hand up Roger’s back, he felt Roger moan into his mouth. There was nothing he wouldn’t give to be able to hear that sound again.

It turned out, all he needed to do was run his hand back down Roger’s back.

He felt Roger shiver in his arms and reluctantly broke the kiss to look at him.

Roger looked absolutely dazed. His eyes were unfocussed and he had a dopey grin on his face.

“You alright, Rog?” Brian asked.

“Hmm, yeah.” Roger answered absently.

“Cold?” Brian asked. Roger was only wearing a thin shirt. It was blissfully open half way, displaying an impossibly smooth chest. In the back of Brian’s mind, sensible thoughts of conservation of body heat and the effects of lower temperatures on the immune system were rearing their heads.

“No, why?” Roger was playing with Brian’s hair, curling strands around his fingers as he undulated his back against Brian’s hand.

“You’re shivering.” Brian instinctively pulled Roger closer to him, he could feel the heat from Roger’s back through his shirt.

“Oh, that. No, it’s – “ Roger trailed off, closing his eyes as he pressed back into Brian’s hold.

“What is it?” Brian was intrigued now.

“Your hands.“ Roger replied.

Brian waited for Roger to elaborate, but after he said nothing for a few moments, it seemed like those two words had been the thought in its entirety.

“What about them?” Brian asked.

“They just, I’ve always – “ Roger trailed off again. He seemed incapable of completing a single thought.

“My hands?” Brian was very keen to get to the bottom of what had rendered Roger virtually incoherent.

“Yes.” Roger’s eyes unfocussed again as he arched his back against Brian’s hand.

Experimentally, Brian massaged Roger’s shoulder muscle and he groaned involuntarily, practically melting in his arms.

“Oh god, please do that again.” Roger begged.

“You like my hands?” Brian was flattered, if mildly confused at the intensity of the reaction Roger was presenting.

“Yes. They’re very. Distracting.” 

Brian reached his hands underneath Roger and lifted him across his lap so the younger man was straddling him, his knees either side of Brian’s hips.

“Like this?” Brian asked, stroking Roger’s back from shoulder to tailbone.

Roger cried out, arching into Brian.

Brian’s brain short-circuited at Roger’s cry. The slight friction that a lapful of Roger provided, combined with his voice had the mortifying effect of making him come in his pants like a teenager.

Once Brian had stopped shaking through his aftershocks, he scrunched his eyes closed and tried to speak through his embarrassment. “Oh god! Roger, I’m - ”

Roger leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Don’t be sorry, Brian. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Hearing Roger’s voice whispering right next to his ear almost made Brian come again, wracking his body with shudders.

Brian moaned painfully.

“Shh, it’s alright, it’s alright.” Roger was trying to calm him down, not realising that his very methods of consolation were arousing Brian almost to the verge of insanity.

“Guh, Roger. Stop!” Brian managed to whimper.

“I’ve stopped.” Everything Roger said was prolonging his orgasm, like a tight fist wrapped around his cock, wringing every last drop out of him. He was over sensitised and it was delicious, delicious torture.

After a few moments, Brian raised his head to look at Roger.

Roger was looking at him with a triumphant smirk on his face, like he’d just cracked a particularly difficult, lewd riddle.

“So, Brian.”

“Yes, Roger? Oh god, that was incredible. I need to –“ Brian looked pointedly down at Roger’s erection, which was tenting the front of his trousers.

“Don’t worry about that just now, and don’t you dare move your hands.” At that, Brian ran his fingers down Roger’s spine and felt the man arch against him, shivering. 

“Hnng,” Roger said articulately.

“I’ve discovered something.” Roger said, baiting Brian.

Brian took the bait, “What have you discovered, Rog?”

“Well, you’ve been getting distracted you say? During our gigs?” Roger was intentionally drawing this out.

“Yes…” Brian affirmed slowly.

“When I’m singing?” The ghost of a smirk was tugging at the corner of Roger’s mouth.

Brian nodded.

“And you’ve not been making eye contact with me for days.” Roger’s declaration hung in the air.

Brian’s silence was admission in itself.

“And just now, you came when I started moaning, and seemed to keep going with no stimulation other than me whispering in your ear.”

Roger grinned as he saw Brian’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed reflexively. 

“Well – well you get off on my hands!” Brian retorted defensively.

Now he was sure of himself, nothing was going to dampen Roger’s spirits or provide him with a single ounce of self-consciousness. “Well, that’s not a revelation. I practically told you before we started. Speaking of which, I have not gotten off on your hands yet, and I think that is incredibly unfair.”

Brian reached between them with one hand to loosen Roger’s belt, undo the buttons of the fly, and pull out his cock. 

Roger moaned watching Brian’s hand moving gracefully, finally feeling one of them on his bare skin. Brian shivered at Roger’s moan, and Roger could feel him twitching underneath him. 

“We’re going to have a lot of fun with this.” Roger declared.

**Author's Note:**

> Can't believe it's seven years since I last wrote any Q/.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has been commenting / leaving kudos on the Queen stories I posted a few years ago. You inspired me to write this one.


End file.
